


Sacramental Indulgence

by themthere_taterthings



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Anal Sex, Dark Magic, Dragon Loki, Fluff and Smut, Human Sacrifice, Hurt Loki, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Near Death Experiences, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Riding, Rimming, Torture, blacksmith!Tony, but not really cuz loki, elements of bestiality, porny at the end mostly, sacrifice!tony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-30 03:18:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10867959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themthere_taterthings/pseuds/themthere_taterthings
Summary: Tony wakes up to torture in the middle of ritual sacrifice....is that a dragon? And it's here to... save him?





	Sacramental Indulgence

**Author's Note:**

> Having some Loki/Tony feels lately and it kinda turned into porn but there are feels in there! And plot, might do more backstory later.

It’s the cold that wakes him. Or maybe it’s the pain. Yeah, definitely the pain, he thinks as he feels a deep searing on his entire body. It’s a burning, more intense than anything he’s ever felt, he must be burning alive. Screaming, yes, he’s definitely screaming with every cut, hoarse like he’s been doing so for a while.

It abates for a moment and he opens his eyes. The world is blurry but dark, lit only by sparse torches, their thick dark smoke stinging his eyes and adding to the tears streaming down his cheeks. There are figures moving around him, surrounding him on all sides, faces hidden by thick black robes complete with deep cowls. He’s naked except for a tiny scrap of fabric over his most tender bits and he supposes he appreciates that it’s being spared the torture the rest of his body is going through.

Someone near his head is murmuring, chanting and he cries out in agony as the priests resume their carving, each of them dragging a dagger through his skin leaving the burning pain behind. This must be magic, dark magic. He’s been kidnapped for some horrible ritual and at this point he just wants it to end.

“Please,” he whispers between his heaving breaths, knowing it’s futile and his plea is lost to the slight breeze.

The chanting is rising in pitch and volume and he knows the end is coming. His very veins are on fire, blood flowing through the cuts on every exposed inch, pooling warm and sticky beneath him, but it feels so cool compared to the heat burning him from the inside out. He’s twisting on the altar, as much as he can around the ropes holding him down, desperate for some relief but he’ll probably just end up breaking his own spine.

His screams are suddenly dwarfed by an incredible roar that echoes around them for a few moments. All movement around him stops. He has half a second to think that maybe this will be a good distraction, he can still get out of this, a blink-and-miss-it twist of light in his gut, but it’s gone as the priest by his head raises his ceremonial knife high and plunges it into his chest.

The world explodes in pain as he convulses around the knife in a horrible involuntary spasm. Fire and chaos reign around him, but he pays it no mind, there’s nothing hotter than the fire burning inside of him now. He opens his eyes, wanting to see the stars one last time, but the darkness is edging in at the corners and all he sees before him is blue.

It’s a dragon, a monstrously huge ice blue dragon, with blood-red eyes.

“Please,” he whispers again, desperate now to die and end his suffering. It breathes on him, deliberately, and then…cold. Blissful cold. Tony succumbs to it gladly.

***

Wind is rushing past his face and his chest feels like it’s being ripped in half. He cries out weakly, feeling blood bubbling from his lips to drip down his chin. Red eyes peer at him, and maybe there’s concern there, but he drifts away too quickly to be sure.

*

He’s screaming again and the dragon is there, a fuzzy cold shape in the darkness. He’s lying on something solid, one giant scaled foot holding him in place. Talons wrap around the hilt of the knife in his chest.

“No, no, no,” he whispers but the dragon doesn’t acknowledge his protest. The blade is ripped out and a fierce, excruciating fire throbs in its place. Tears are falling down his cheeks as unconsciousness takes him once again.

*

Wherever he is, the room is full of a deep growling, coming from everywhere at once. It’s making his bones rattle in his flesh, but he tears his eyes open to see swirling blue shadows surrounding him. They touch his skin, freezing it through and he’s shivering.

When will this torture end?

*

Tony’s disappointed when his eyes open again. He hoped this nightmare would have ended with his death, preferably a few rounds ago. Refusing to even think about the state of his body, he lets his gaze wander the room. It’s boring, practically featureless; small with grey stone walls and a small window placed high even though the ceilings tower above him. Dim light is filtering through the dirty bubbled panes. There’s no door, just an open archway, the size of a room itself, to his right leading who knows where.

He’s not even on a bed, just a pile of fur pelts on a pallet on the floor. It’s surprisingly comfortable, though, and warm. Peeling back the blanket atop him, he’s horrified to see that practically his entire torso and the lengths of his arms are covered in bandages, bits of blood leaking through. His legs must look the same, and he shudders to remember the drag of blades across the tops of his feet and the sensitive backs of his knees and inner thighs.

 He feels drained, like he could sleep for another week but he should explore or maybe escape and try to get back to his life before whatever crazies come back to finish the job. Taking a deep breath, he’s choked by the sudden pain that strikes his chest, dropping like so much dead weight back onto the furs, gasping for air and struggling to relax.

His efforts are not helped when he hears a loud grumbling noise and sees the dragon clearly for the first time. It’s intimidatingly large, looming over him even in the ridiculously tall room; the reason for the large arch of the door suddenly obvious. Its’ hide is a light almost sky blue but covered all over in much darker scales and spikes. Horns rise out of its head, pale and gleaming, overly sharp, and lending it even more unnecessary height. Giant wings of the same dark, nearly-black blue are folded against its back and a faint memory of how far they stretch when in flight tickles at the recesses of his memory.

Oh gods, this thing could kill him without a moment’s thought and when the now-familiar blood red eyes come into view he panics, thinking it’s going to eat him. His eyes scrunch closed, unwilling to see anymore, but the pain he’s expecting doesn’t come. Instead, he feels a warm weight settle on his legs. When nothing follows but some soft grumbling, he dares to look, surprised to see one of the dragons’ front paws on him, covering his entire lower half. One of its claws is rubbing up and down the outside of his thigh.

Is it _comforting_ him?

As wild as that thought is, whatever it’s doing is actually helping him calm down. The panic and pain in his chest subsiding as his heavy panting eases into a normal cadence.

He gazes into its eyes, trying to decipher any motives, but can’t make out any emotions there. The dragon hadn’t let him die on the altar however long ago that was and he can vaguely remember it pulling the dagger from his chest. Maybe it didn’t want to kill him. Maybe it had saved him.

“Thank you,” he says just in case he’s correct. His voice is hoarse and gravelly, not surprising given all the screaming he’d done recently. The claw on his thigh stops moving and the dragon’s head tilts to the side ever so slightly. Suddenly it stands and lumbers out of the room, returning quicker than he would have expected, cradling a bundle in its paw. It dumps the pack out beside Tony and puts its paw back on his legs, resuming its gentle stroking.

Tony raises a questioning eyebrow at the bundle next to him and the grumbling resumes. At this point, it seems more like purring than anything ominous, so he fumbles around, moving his chest as little as possible to see what the dragon has brought him.

A canteen, filled with water. Thank the gods! He opens it and drinks deeply, forcing himself to go slowly although he’d like nothing more than the down the lot of it. Maybe it’s because he’s dehydrated or maybe it’s because it came from a dragon, but it’s the best tasting water he’s ever had, cool and refreshing. Once he’s had his fill he feels remarkably improved and he settles back against the furs, comfortable and relaxed.

The dragon doesn’t let him drift off to sleep yet, though. Nudging him until he finds some bread and an apple tucked in the bundle. It watches him munch on the offerings with eyes half lidded and the non-stop rumbling purr vibrating through his entire body. It was probably the most surreal thing, to be nursed back to health by the very dragon he was sacrificed to, but it would have to be a problem for another day.

***

After that, it seems like the dragon is always lingering nearby. As soon as he wakes, whether it’s morning or not, it is soon coming into his room with a bundle of food and water, although sometimes the water seems to be flavored with something more that Tony couldn’t identify. He’s getting stronger, though, and he begins to suspect that there is magic involved. Something to help him replace whatever the ritual had taken from him.

“Is there magic in this?” He asks the dragon one day, because he’s dying of curiosity here. He wants to know what was done to him, why the dragon saved him, why his fairly superficial wounds are taking unnaturally long to heal, but communication with a dragon doesn’t seem that easy.

The dragon almost drops the bundle in shock. Maybe it’s been a few days since he’s last spoken, which is highly unusual for Tony.

“Cuz everytime I drink some, I feel like something’s been returned to me. Not to be melodramatic, but it feels like, I don’t know, my life force is returning to me.” He watches as the dragon navigates so that it’s lying down with its head on the makeshift bed with him. Once settled it nods its head in affirmation.

“Magic, huh? What a mess.” Sure he’s heard about magic, there are rumors of sorcerers and creatures and magicians all over the kingdom, but he’s never encountered it. Definitely didn’t believe that dragons were real. “Why is it taking so long for your magic to heal these cuts? They’re not that deep.” Tony holds up his arm that’s still heavily bandaged to the point where he can’t see the intricate patterns carved into his skin. He’s gotten worse working at the forge back home.

The dragon seems to frown at his question, but grabs his hand in its paw, gentler than he would have thought possible for something so large, and it croons lightly before slicing into his palm with a sharp claw causing blood to well up immediately. Tony sucks in a breath of surprise and betrayal and a bit of pain, and tries to jerk his hand away, but the dragon holds firm, still crooning but taking on a sadder note. It huffs a breath of cold air on him and the pain is gone. As is the wound, vanishing as if it was never there, leaving only a smudge of blood behind.

“Oohhh,” Tony breathes, understanding. He stares at his unblemished hand in awe, fingering where the cut had been. “You can’t magically heal magically-induced wounds, is that it?”

The giant head nods again and the grumbling takes on a definite apologetic tone.

“It’s ok, it’s not your fault.” He is honestly nothing but grateful for what the dragon has done for him. Without thinking, he reaches out with his freshly healed hand, and absently strokes the dragon’s snout, feeling the warm flesh there. When he encounters the horn, he traces it for its entire length, amazed at how silky smooth it is beneath his fingers. He’s tiring quickly again and drops his hand back onto the snout, letting it rest there as he dozes off, not aware of the intense scrutiny coming from red eyes.

***

It’s the slowest recovery Tony’s ever had to deal with and normally that would have him chomping at the bit to be out and about, doing something, moving, but that’s definitely not the case this time. He thinks it’s due to whatever the magical ritual had drained from him, his life energy or something but he’s only able to stay awake for a matter of a few hours each day before exhaustion forces him to sleep.

The dragon has been extremely accommodating, though, letting him laze about all day and bringing him food and magical tinctures to drink. The food is plain, simple stuff, but he wasn’t really expecting a dragon to be a genius in the kitchen.

He does wonder why the dragon doesn’t just conjure up food but maybe it’s like the laws of matter; you can’t create something from nothing, even though magical energy should still count as energy, but he knows nothing about magic and can argue circles around himself all day long. He would ask the dragon, but that might be outside the bounds of the tentative form of communication they’ve figured out. Tony is surprisingly good at reading the dragon, much better than he’s ever been with people.

It’s been over a month, now, though, and Tony’s eager to explore the dragon’s home. He’s been working, with the dragon’s help of course, on standing and moving, and he’s confident that he’s strong enough to leave his room. Honestly, he’d really like to see the outside world again. The tiny far-away window is just not enough for him, despite how many times he was mocked as a hermit back in the village.

So when the dragon comes in with lunch, he asks, “Hey Dragon? I was thinking we could make lunch a picnic today. What do you say?” He keeps his expression guileless and hopeful, but inside he’s clamoring with desperation to _get out_ of this room.

The dragon stares at him for a long minute and it’s all Tony can do to not fidget under its scrutiny. Its eyes narrow at him, but then it huffs its agreement, nodding its head slightly. Tony couldn’t help but whoop in joy, causing the dragon to nudge him gently with its snout.

“What? Can you blame me for being excited? I want to see something besides the inside of this room! It’s not the most thrilling of décor, you must know,” he jokes, keeping his tone light and teasing.

The dragon grumbles at him darkly, but allows him to grab onto its horns to help stabilize him as he hauls himself to his feet. Once he’s steady, the dragon passes him the robe that he’d brought when Tony had first started standing and moving about. Tony didn’t know if it was for his modesty or the dragons but it was drafty enough outside of the furs that he didn’t care.

He pulls it on, belting it firmly before he starts to move. If his body has a time limit, he intends to be as far from this horrid room as possible. The dragon gathers lunch and follows him as he totters out of the room. His intent was to follow the wall so that he could lean on it if he needed, but the grand hallway they enter is astonishingly wide. He stops in place, staring in awe until the dragon steps out next to him with a questioning trill.

“Wow, just, _wow_ , Dragon. This is really something.” He puts a hand on the dragons shoulder, since the wall is too far away, and is amazed, as always, by the play of muscles underneath the tough scaled exterior. His dragon is powerful, that’s for sure.

Wait, _his_ dragon? 

No, that did sound right. His dragon. It felt right, too, something deep inside him growled happily with the knowledge.

He shook away the weird thoughts and foreign feelings, determined to enjoy his first true outing in the dragons keep. For that’s indeed what it was, a fortified keep built onto the mountainside, such that some of the rooms had rough-hewn rock instead of stone walls. It’s impressive and he can’t help but voice all his questions about how it was made; his dragon responds but Tony doesn’t get much real information from their conversation. He doesn’t mind one bit.

His dragon leads him to a balcony nearby that juts out seemingly into the sky and he eats sitting in the brilliant sunshine, leaning against his dragons’ side. The view is incredible; he can see the forest stretching out for miles and miles, which at this height looks like just mounds of deep calming green. He eats, mindlessly chattering at his dragon, enjoying the rumbling replies against his back.

He startles awake when his dragon starts to move slowly away from him, making questioning, curious trills that make Tony want to laugh at how silly they sound coming from such a fearsome beast. “Time to go inside?” He asks, slowly rising to his feet, again astonished at how exhausted he is. Sweaty, too. After sitting in the sun, he’s realizing how long it’s been since he’s truly bathed.

“Ugh,” he complains, sniffing unabashedly at his armpits. “What I wouldn’t give for some soap and a tub.”

His dragon makes a happy surprised sound at that and starts to nudge him back inside. It seems almost excited to show him something, so he follows as quickly as he can. The dragon leads him deeper into the keep until there’s no natural light, only a series of torches lit an eerie soft blue the color of the dragons magic. They’re so deep there’s no castle left, only cave.

To his surprise, it doesn’t get colder as they retreat into the mountainside, but warmer. It’s humid and borderline uncomfortably warm when he starts to hear the soft _plunk-plunk_ of slow dripping water and he realizes, “Ohhh, is this a hot spring?” The dragon growls his assent.

“Oh you are a clever dragon, aren’t you?” Tony’s excitement is growing to match that of his dragons. A real hot springs?! It’s something he never thought he’d be able to try; those were coveted by the rich and the noble. Never something a common blacksmith like himself would be invited to partake in. And now he has one to himself! Or well, his dragon is sharing with him, but he’ll take it.

The dragon leads him into a large multileveled cavern with different pools all flowing into one another, each of a different temperature. He wants to start at the top but the dragon won’t let him near it so he figures it’s probably too hot for him to handle. When he finds one that feels right when he dips his toes in, he shamelessly shrugs the robe to the floor and steps into the pool.

The bottom is sandy rather than rocky like the walls would lead one to believe and he stands, completely naked for a moment just in up to his ankles getting used to the heat. He turns to see his dragon watching him, eyes glittering darkly in the dim light. Tony smiles at the dragon, pleased at the attention.

“Join me?” He asks as he steps forward, slowly entering the pool until it’s up to his chin. It feels heavenly, the heat melting his muscles and easing a tension he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying. Probably all the stress associated with being kidnapped from his traveling convoy and being tortured and ritualistically sacrificed to a dragon. Tony is very good at denial.

The water is hot but doesn’t bother his wounds at all and he reminds himself, _magical wounds, throw out all expectations._ He’s been out of the bandages for a couple days now, as the wounds are no longer seeping the mixture of blood and clear fluid that has been the usual. The markings are disturbing, though, and he can tell that they cut deep into rune patterns that he’s unable to read. His dragon can read them, he knows, but they’ll never be able to communicate what they mean.

He likes to think they’ve made headway in their communication; he can understand the lighthearted trills, questioning grumbles, the occasional angry grumble when he’s pushed his dragon just a bit too far, and the satisfied purring that is his constant companion when he sits down to eat or sleep. His dragon doesn’t have to make any noise for him to know that the scars make the dragon sad. It eats away at him that he can’t figure out _why_.

He also can’t determine why it means so much to him, why there’s a tension in his chest when his dragon looks at him and the solemnity and somberness is reflected in his eyes. He much prefers when they are lit up with joy at some silly thing Tony’s said, when he’s made a fool of himself rambling away or like just now when there’s some new heat to his gaze.

He’s pulled from his musings when the water sloshes violently around him, his eyes whipping open as he treads the deep end of the pool, but he laughs aloud when he sees his dragon is in the pool as well. It grumbles a monologue, causing tiny ripples in the water that bounce around the edges.

“Glad you joined me! Doesn’t this feel incredible?” Tony paddles around the pool, investigating its far reaches. The slow trickle of water coming in from the higher pool is hotter so he stays away from that, but after a while he lies on his back, content to float around. The water covers his ears muffling everything except for the vibrations of the dragon’s purring. It’s comforting and he finds himself relaxing more than he’s done in years. 

Life in the village had been a constant drain on him, physically and emotionally. The Starks had been the village blacksmiths for generations, responsible for crafting some of the finest weapons and armor in the kingdom, but his father had lost his edge, to put it in terms of the craft. He’d lost his drive to create and the quality of his work had decreased drastically. The customers had not been pleased and they’d lost their reputation and most of their business and Tony had spent years after his father’s death trying to dig himself out of the debt and negative image.

He needs to stop dwelling on the past is what he needs to do. He’s happy here with his dragon and that should be enough. Strangely, it _is_ enough. Something to do with his hands wouldn’t be remiss, though.

Maybe the dragon has a forge here somewhere that he could explore. It would be beyond awesome to fashion himself an armor that matches his dragon. It would have to be cold resistant, more so than normal metals, for any blasts of the cold magic his dragon was so fond of. That is another excellent question; can his dragon breathe fire at all? Or just the ice and magic mixture?

He floats and ponders until his head bumps against something firm, not rocky, so it isn’t the edge of the pool. He opens his eyes to see his dragon arching its neck to gaze down on him, amusement and fondness obvious in its expression.

“Hi,” he says, sitting up and pulling his head out of the water in order to smile widely. This way he has to tread water to stay afloat, but soon enough the dragon pulls him close so that he’s lounging on its belly.

“Oooh, this is nice,” he sighs, settling into the soft muscles there. There’s a questioning trill and he finds the dragon holding something out to him. Soap! How the heck did a dragon end up with soap?! Fancy soap too, he discovers as he takes it eagerly and the smell of mint invades his nose.

“Stop spoiling me, Dragon, or you’ll never be rid of me.”

The dragon just huffs and knocks him gently with its snout.

It should be weird, but Tony isn’t bothered at all to be sitting naked atop a dragon while he washes himself off but perhaps it’s because his dragon is trilling and purring at him and occasionally splashing him with a veritable wave of water from a wayward wing. The innocent act wasn’t fooling Tony at all, though. He was being splashed on purpose and he would love to play around a little bit, but he was just beginning to notice again how exhausted he was.

So he presses a quick kiss to the dragon’s snout before sliding off into the water for a quick dunk and rinse as he paddles toward the side of the pool he’d entered from.

“Take me to bed, Dragon? I’m beat.” The air is still pleasantly warm and Tony lets himself mostly air-dry before slipping his robe back on.

He has to lean heavily on the dragon’s side as they slowly made their way back to Tony’s room. He's practically asleep on his feet but he manages to get out, “Thanks for today, Dragon. It was wonderful.”

***

As luck would have it, there is a forge in the keep. It’s hidden deep, but not so far as the hot springs, which have become an almost daily activity for Tony and Dragon. Sometimes they go and play in the cooler pools, splashing and swimming around, which is doing wonders for Tony’s recovery. He’s regaining his stamina and strength and it allows him to get back to actually working the forge that much faster.

Of course, on days when he’s been too long in the forge and is covered in soot and sweat, it’s amazing to be able to soak in one of the warmer pools and ease his hard-worked muscles.

The forge is another cave that’s more mountain than castle, although the floor has been smoothed of all of its deformities so that there’s no tripping hazard. The equipment is clean, although somewhat in a state of disrepair and Tony wonders the last time a blacksmith was actually around to work it.

What did this castle used to be? He knows he hasn’t seen even a fraction of it, but he can tell that it’s larger than the castle of the kingdom that ruled over his village; by far. The dragon tends to keep toward the abandoned, sparsely furnished areas, but Tony’s caught glimpses of the opulence stored in some of the other rooms. Whoever ruled here (whenever they ruled, for there hadn’t been a rival kingdom in centuries) was rich and powerful beyond sanity.

So where does his dragon fit into the story? The questions were building up inside him until he is fit to burst, but he knows it’s too complicated for his dragon to relay and he has his suspicions that it’s not something it would want to talk about anyway. His dragon is lonely and has been for a long time. Tony would rather not bring it up if it’s going to make it sad.

The dragon is delighted to give Tony the forge, though, if only so that he has something to do while the dragon is off catching them fresh meat or stretching his wings. The first few sessions, he watches Tony puttering around taking stock and organizing what’s there. The metal and tools are of high quality and he can’t help but squeal (just a little) and chatter on about how incredible his finds are and the dragon just trills and huffs with laughter.

It makes Tony’s heart lighter to see and hear the amusement he causes his dragon.

Once he starts up the fires, though, the dragon watches as if to make sure he knows what he’s doing but Tony’s been blacksmithing since he could hold a hammer. He remembers being delighted at being granted the privilege of hammering the tops of nails flat for his father. Discovering such an amazing workspace is like discovering his passion all over again.

He loves blacksmithing, but he hasn’t been this excited to be back behind the anvil in a long while. After one particularly grueling session, he’d been wandering outside of the pool rooms and stumbled upon what had to be the dragon’s room, windowless and barren except for a large pile of furs toward the far end of the room. The walls were covered in deep gouges, showing years of frustration and anger and loneliness. He thought he would cry, then, but he simply folded himself up in the furs and slept, waiting for the dragon’s return.

He’d woken with the dragon curled around him protectively, purring contentedly even in sleep. Tony’s former room had been abandoned from that day forth.

It wasn’t anything strange for the dragon to be gone when Tony went to sleep, but he was always there upon his waking. Tony had no idea how something so large could be so quiet when moving around. Logically, he should hear something whether it be the drag of a spike-studded tail or the clicking of claws on stone, but he hears nothing.

Usually.

Tony jerks out of sleep at the sound, an animalistic loud cry of pain. He shoots upright, furs falling away from his naked form, and he can barely see in the dark, but his dragon is dragging itself into the room on its belly, whimpering and crying. He’s up and next to it in a flash, drawing a comforting hand down its heaving side.

“Dragon? Oh gods, what happened?” His hand comes away covered in blood, a few scales sticking to his palm. They’re not even their usual sky blue, but tinged with a sickly grey. “Come lie down, it’s going to be, ok. It has to be ok.”

He wheedles and cajoles the dragon over the furs where it collapses heavily on its side. The cries have stopped, but it’s still bleeding and shedding scales at an alarming rate but he can’t find any actual wounds anywhere. He panics when he realizes it’s passed out.

“No, no, no. Don’t leave me, Dragon. Come on, stay with me, please!” He pleads frantically to no avail.

Worried tears are slipping unheeded down his cheeks as he cradles the dragon’s head in his arms, resting his forehead on its long snout. Suddenly, his chest is on fire, stealing the breath from his lungs and the strength from his body.

A bright, brilliant blue light is shining out of his chest where the dagger had struck him so long ago and lighting up the runes along the scars of his body. It’s draining him and Tony is helpless to stop it, but it’s converging on the dragon so he doesn’t fight the pull.

He’s going to pass out any moment, but he’ll do this, he’ll gladly give his life to save his friend. His dragon isn’t merely his friend, he’s had friends before and he knows that this connection between them is something more. It doesn’t matter if it’s the result of magic or their time together, but it means more than anything in his life has ever mattered. Maybe it’s…

“Dragon,” he whispers, knowing that there’s so much left unsaid between them but that’s all he can choke out before collapsing across its neck, unconscious.

***

He wakes feeling as weak as the first few weeks spent with the dragon, possibly achier, though. His neck and back is killing him from how he’s been slumped over the dragon. The hole in his chest feels like it’s been ripped open anew, tender and burning white-hot. Breathing is a struggle, like he’s been running all day. He has no energy, but he desperately needs to see if the dragon is healed.

Lifting his head is a phenomenal effort and he lets out an anguished cry at the sight of his dragon still motionless and grey. Tears slip down his cheeks and he can’t bear to even think that his dragon is dead because he loves the dragon. Loves him more than he thought he was capable of. There’s no living without him.

He sinks back down in despair, the knowledge that he wasn’t enough to save the dragon a heavy disappointment in his chest. Movement underneath him draws his attention, “Dragon?” He murmurs, hope fighting with the ache in his heart.

A familiar blue light surrounds his dragon, growing steadily brighter until he’s forced to look away. He wishes he didn’t, though, when the figure beneath him is suddenly so much smaller. His dragon is gone and with it his fatigue and pain. It’s like the day never even happened. Except for the man.

Where the dragon had lain, now lay a man, alarmingly pale but slimly muscular with raven black hair fanning out for at least a foot on the furs beneath him.

“Dragon?” He whispers, disbelief weighting the question. There can really be no doubt, though, not when he can see the runes from his dragon’s hide etched on this new marble-pale skin. It’s still beautiful.

Eyelids flutter and his gaze is met with the most mesmerizingly emerald eyes he’s ever seen. “It’s Loki, actually.” The voice is a lesser rumble than what Tony’s used to, but he would recognize it anywhere.

“Loki,” he breathes, and wastes no time before bending and pressing his lips to Loki’s. It’s desperate and thankful, _warm_ and wet and when he finally breaks away to gasp for air, he lingers practically breathing Loki’s air, reluctant to pull away any further. He realizes that Loki is whispering his name over and over, hands cupping his face and wiping away tears he didn’t know he was shedding.

“Tony, it’s ok. I’m here, I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.” Tony leans his head into Loki’s touch, bringing his own hands up to cover Loki’s. Absently, he notices that Loki’s fingers are slimmer and longer than his own.

“I thought I’d lost you.” He still can’t quite believe he hasn’t, that his dragon isn’t dead in his arms.

Loki growls, deep in his chest and Tony’s breathe catches. “Never. _You are mine_ ,” and his eyes flash red for a moment. It’s a relief to see them again and any lingering doubt disappears into thin air.

“There you are.”

Before Tony can gather a single thought about where this is going, Loki has surged upwards, knocking Tony backwards effortlessly. He lands with a grunt on the fur pelts piled around them, body bracketed by Loki’s immediately. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting from Loki, but he’s surprised when he seems content to just stare into Tony’s eyes, expression fond and amazed. Tony doesn’t know what to do with devotion like that.

“Hi,” he says, to break the tension.

To his surprise, Loki laughs, loud and delighted and it echoes throughout the room. His smile is brilliant and bright and Tony never wants to see anything but it for the rest of his life. “Oh Tony,” Loki lowers his lips to Tony’s and they kiss again, slow and languid.

Tony sighs and Loki’s tongue plunders his mouth, meeting and moving together in a passionate dance. Tony runs his fingers through Loki’s long, soft tresses, loving the silky slide of it in between them as it hangs over their faces. He traces the muscles of Loki’s shoulders, the strong outline of his biceps, his chest. He ghosts thumbs over pebbled nipples, sucking in the soft noise that elicits.

He continues his journey south; he knew every inch of his dragon, now he needs to know Loki. He feels taught, trim stomach muscles and makes note to worship them in more detail later, but he’s found a slight smattering of hair, following it down. There! Finally, he grasps Loki’s cock firmly in one hand, jacking it up and down slowly.

“Tony!” Loki exclaims, one hand holding his wrist to keep him from moving. He’s panting, cheeks flushed a lovely light pink, eyes wide in surprise. “If we start…” Loki licks his lips, leaving them shining wetly in the dim firelight.

Tony knows what Loki is saying immediately, understanding. “I’m yours, Loki. Always have been.” He tries to move his hand again, rewarded when Loki allows it, still grasping his wrist. Loki’s eyes close in ecstasy before they snap open and there’s not even a hint of green; only the familiar comfort of his blood-red dragon shade.

“Mine,” he growls and it reverberates through to Tony’s very bones. Loki holds up one hand and Tony inhales sharply when his nails elongate into the dark blue claws he’s used to seeing on his dragon, not in fear, but amazement. It quickly turns to anticipation as they grab his tunic and rip it from his body, his trousers following in short order. Eyes and hand are back to human once Tony’s naked.

“Tony. You’re so beautiful. I want you. I’ve wanted you for so long,” Loki says while pressing kisses and licking along his jawline, neck, and collarbone. He slides down Tony’s body, making him lose his grip on Loki’s cock. Loki bites gently on a nipple and he gasps, feeling sharper than normal teeth, but the pain is soothed by a lick and a chilly breath.

By the time Loki takes his cock into his mouth, a strange mixture of heat and cold that must be a side effect of Loki being a frost-dragon, he can think of nothing but the pleasure. “Yours,” he says again, starting to lose focus on reality as his body is worshipped in a way it never has before.

It must be the right thing to say, because he’s suddenly flipped onto his stomach, ass pulled into the air and a tongue is lapping at his hole. He cries out with how amazing it feels. The tongue elongates, forking into two and he knows it’s a dragon tongue fucking into him. It lingers along the rim, more dexterous than any humans before plunging in, so far! It feels incredible and he can’t help but rock back into it, whimpering for more.

He has no idea how much time has passed when the tongue eventually pulls out, drool leaking from his ass same as the pre-cum from his rock-hard cock. There’s no time to complain, however, as Loki’s cockhead is nudging at his hole that is desperately sucking it inside. It burns but he relishes the stretch and the fullness that he feels inside when Loki is fully seated.

Loki gives him a moment to adjust before pounding away, chasing his own pleasure, draped over Tony’s back, dragon claws scrabbling at Tony’s hips and arms to get a better grip. He pulls Tony closer, bouncing him back and forth on his cock. It’s the best feeling in the world, being used like this and Tony lets his pleasure be known. He’s moaning Loki’s name and whimpering every time he’s hit on that special spot deep inside.

When Loki wraps a clawed hand around his dick, he comes without a single pull, almost screaming. Loki speeds up then, slamming into him, and he lets out a feral roar as a rush of cold liquid paints Tony’s insides making him shiver. They collapse together, Loki turning them onto their sides so Tony isn’t squished beneath him.

After Loki slips out of him, he turns over, nuzzling into Loki’s neck leaving sloppy open mouthed kisses. “Did I hurt you?” Loki asks, one clawless hand hovering over the slightly bloody scratches on Tony’s torso.

“Liked it,” he replies, still riding his endorphin high. It doesn’t stop Loki from sitting up and breathing his healing breathe along the wounds, leaving it as unblemished as it was possible to be. Tony sighs happily and drifts off into a contented sleep. 

***

It’s in the afterglow of round three or four, still snuggled together despite the sweat glistening on both their bodies that Tony notices. His head rests on Loki’s chest, idly tracing through the runes that stood slightly raised from the rest of his flawless skin with one finger. He sits up, startled at his discovery. Not counting the horrible mess of scar tissue above Tony’s heart where the knife had finally pierced, his scars from that night exactly matched the patterned runes on Loki.

“What’s wrong?” Loki asks, reaching up to push Tony’s sweaty hair away from his forehead in a startlingly tender motion in light of their previous rough activities. Tony lets himself be distracted for a moment, leaning into the touch.

“We match,” he says, eyes closed.

“Ah,” Loki says, seemingly not surprised at all. His hand drops down to gently finger the runes down Tony’s neck and over his collarbones. It tickles and Tony shivers. “I was wondering when you would notice.”

Tony’s eyes pop open. “You knew?”

Loki pulls Tony close with a hand on his nape and kisses him sweetly. “The ceremony that you were involved in,” and his lips twist with apparent distaste at the memory, “is one I’m quite familiar with. If done properly, it would have bound my magic to the one who performed it.”

“Properly?” It had felt incredibly well-done to Tony.

“For the ritual to be completed, the sacrifice must be killed.” Loki’s hands tense where they sit on Tony’s shoulder and hip, like he’s worried about Tony’s reaction.

“Oh. And by bound you mean - ?” He doesn’t know what else to say. He knows he had been incredibly close to death, but he hadn’t ever thought about what it would have meant for Loki.

“Enslaved to the will of another.” Loki presses a kiss to his temple and Tony knows the next words have nothing to do with his magic. “I’ve never been more grateful to have interrupted the ceremony.”

Tony hears the honesty in Loki’s voice and snuggles closer, disregarding the strange feeling of cum leaking out of his ass.

“I think you were the one who gave me my powers back, actually.”

“Hmm?”

“Dragons are shape-shifters by nature with both a human form and that of our true-selves. My magic has been bound for so long, not completely my own, I’d almost lost hope that I’d ever see this form again.” He gestures at his bare chest, obviously amazed at his transformation.

“How could someone bind your powers?” Tony asks, genuinely curious. All he knows about magic he’s learned mostly by guesswork over the past few months.

“In a ritual similar to the one you were involved in, but with myself on the altar.” There’s pain behind Loki’s voice and Tony knows that his memories must be as dark as his own, so he moves so that he is lying atop Loki, pressing open mouthed kisses along his chest and sucking marks onto the pale skin.

“Interrupting the ritual with you somehow left a passageway open. One that I could find my way down to reclaim that part of me that had been locked away.”

“Glad I could help,” Tony murmurs, leaning up to capture Loki’s lips and tongue. They kiss, much slower than before, gently rutting against each other as they both harden again. “What else can your magic do?”

Loki smirks and green sparks fill the air and then gone is the drab unfurnished grey stone room around them, replaced with the large four post bed laden with green pillows and blankets that they are suddenly lying on. Lush rugs cover the floor and a gold gilded fireplace roars behind them. It’s way over the top, but a brilliant display and Tony smiles at the opulence.

“Impressive.” Tony looks around with awe before smiling down at Loki. “Everything about you is.” Loki’s expression widens in surprise at that, but Tony gives him no time to respond. He’s so wet and well-used that he doesn’t have to do more than hold Loki steady as he sinks down onto him, impaling himself fully on the dragon’s swollen cock with a moan of pleasure.

Loki throws his head back in ecstasy and Tony takes advantage of the position to lathe his tongue over the exposed pale column of throat, making his way down to the prominent collarbones that are quickly becoming his favorite parts of Loki. He switches between small nips and sucking bruises that disappear quickly on magically fortified skin, moving his hips up and down in an easy rhythm.

Loki’s hands are wandering all over his body, rubbing his back and chest, playing with his nipples so that Tony’s gasping with the stimulation. One hand leisurely pulls at Tony’s cock while another disappears behind him to feel at where they’re joined.

“Ahh, Tony, you’re incredible…please…I…” Loki chokes out and Tony obliges, sitting up and bouncing firmly up and down, occasionally rising so that only the head remains inside his hole and swirling in teasing circles before slamming back down. Loki comes in very short order, gripping Tony’s hips and pistoning into him with a cry.

As soon as he’s finished, he pulls out, replacing his cock with his long graceful fingers, and continues to jack and finger Tony at the same slow pace. It’s maddening but it feels so good and Tony’s orgasm is slow and drawn out. It’s the best sex he’s ever had.

He slouches down to rest his face against Loki’s chest, more than ready for an eight hour or so nap.  

“Are you happy here, Tony? Here with me?” Loki whispers into his hair as he’s on the very brink of sleep.

“Mmmph… more than I ever thought possible,” he breathes back.

“Stay with me?” There’s a vulnerability to the dragon’s voice that he never wanted to hear again.

“Forever.” He snuggles as close as possible placing the words into Loki’s very skin. “Yours.”

“Mine,” Loki growls, gripping him tight and Tony finally feels like he’s come home.


End file.
